Patricia Harrelson

Five years ago, I had one of those light bulb moments: the idea for a BIG writing project popped into my head and roamed around in there for days until I was sure it was something I wanted to do. Since it was a non-fiction, biographical project, I needed to get the buy-in of the subject.

I wrote a letter to this man, briefly outlining the idea and asking if we could meet and talk about my idea. I chose to write a letter for several reasons. For one thing, I wanted a paper trail from the very beginning of the project. Secondly, I felt that a postmarked letter conveyed a lot about my intention: that I intended to take my time on this project. That I knew it required thought as well as cooperation and collaboration. These were, albeit, indirect messages in the letter, but in this day of rapid communication via phone and email, I thought a handwritten letter sent a quieter more intimate message. I included my phone number in the closing.

The man called me back quickly–seemingly on the day he got my letter–leaving a voice message that expressed reluctance but nevertheless invited me to return his call. I called back and took verbatim notes on the short conversation. My timing was atrocious. He was in the midst of a personal and professional crisis and even though I could sense that he was flattered by my interest (given in part his quick response), he could not see past the mess he was in to view this as a worthy project.

I was disappointed but not waylaid. I had started a notebook and continued to make notes and collect stories about this man with the idea that some day he would say, “Yes.” About year and half later, he and I were called for jury duty on the same day. During the lunch break, we chatted and I was able to mention the project again. At this point, he was still reluctant but also kind of dismayed that I was still thinking about it. I was working on another large project at the time, so I relegated that conversation to the back of the desk, but knew I was keeping the idea alive if not yet in motion.

Then the unthinkable happened. The man died! I, along with the entire community in which we both lived, was grief stricken. But my idea for the project did not die. In fact, it made me more determined. A sea of people were talking about the man, stories rolling from their tongues, amazing, sweet, scary, delightful stories. I was more convinced than ever that his story was important and memorable.

But I still needed to bide my time. In the year after he died, I had two brief encounters with his wife. At each of these encounters, I brought up the project. She did not say “No!” I was sure I felt eagerness amidst her ambivalence.

A few days ago I called her and made a date to talk with her about my idea. In the course of the phone conversation she said, “I don’t understand why you want to do this?” I assured her I would explain when we met. Then I sat down and wrote out the reasons why I wanted to do it and why I thought I was the right person for the job.

Since making the call and writing out my reasons, my mind is a swim with ideas, people I want to talk to, avenues I want to explore, things I need to know.

I have officially started the project for I’m confident his wife will agree. I guess I really started it in 2006, but now it is launched. And I’ve decided to chronicle the journey here on my blog. What I want to record is the terrain and motion across such a big writing project–not so much the specifics of the man’s story, but how I make my way through and what’s involved in the adventure.

I hope we can learn something together as writers.